Bleed a River Deep (19 page)

‘What about Social Services?’

‘They’re not being the most helpful. We’re really stuck.’

‘I’ll need to check with my wife,’ I said finally. ‘She’s the one looking after her today.’

‘It’s only for another day or two,’ he said, as if I had already agreed. ‘We’ll speak before Sunday about going for Strandmann.’

I hung up and called Debbie to explain the situation. She reacted as I had feared, though I could tell that Shane and Penny must have been in earshot, for she moderated her language accordingly.

‘I told you I wanted her out, Ben,’ she hissed. ‘Look, I feel sorry for her, but I don’t want her here.’

‘Fine,’ I said, disingenuously. ‘You tell her she can’t stay.’

‘Don’t be such a hateful—’ she said, cutting herself short before she said something that Shane would no doubt repeat in front of his grandparents for the next month.

‘I’m sorry, Debs. Honestly. I feel responsible. I can’t – I can’t just abandon her. I can’t let her down.’

‘No,’ Debbie said, the anger gone from her voice. ‘But you don’t think twice about letting me down instead.’

I knew, though, that she would allow Natalia to stay. I gave her Karol Walshyk’s number in case she needed help in communicating with Natalia, and promised her I’d be home when I was finished with Moore.

Hendry and I sat in the café after the interview with Moore was completed. The other officers had remained outside Moore’s room, for he was now under arrest for the murder of his wife. Alex Kerlin, meanwhile, had been called to attend a client in the local police station and had turned down Jim’s offer of a cup of tea and a sandwich.

‘Shame,’ Hendry commented as he watched her leave the hospital.

‘Bit of a soft spot for Ms Kerlin, Jim?’

‘Nice girl,’ he said in response. ‘Not often you meet them in our line, eh?’

I reflected that, despite having worked with Hendry on and off for several years now, I didn’t know much about his home life. I knew he had been married at one stage, though he never spoke of his wife.

‘Are you on the look-out, then?’ I asked.

‘Always be on the look-out,’ he retorted, playing with the tip of his moustache. ‘Otherwise you’ll know you’ve died.’

We drank our tea and I attempted to read the headlines of the newspaper sitting in front of a man at the table beside us.

‘The missus is remarrying,’ Hendry said, apropos of nothing. ‘Next week. The kids told me. They’re calling him Daddy, apparently.’

‘I . . . I’m sorry, Jim. I didn’t know.’

‘No need to apologize; it’s not you she’s marrying.’

‘I’m only—’ I began to explain.

‘I know what you meant,’ he said, chuckling lightly.

‘How many kids have you?’ I asked.

‘Two girls. We had a boy, but he didn’t make it.’

I stopped myself from saying sorry a second time.

‘You’ve one of each, isn’t that right?’ he continued.

I nodded. ‘The gentleman’s family.’

‘I’d have liked a boy. What do they say? “Girls do your head in, boys do your house in.” Is that it?’

‘Something like that,’ I replied.

‘They live in Manchester now. I don’t really see them much. Speak to the girls every night. It’s not the same though, is it? You miss stuff.’

‘Are you going over – for the wedding, I mean?’ I asked.

‘Are you fucking mad?’ he asked, looking at me incredulously. ‘I’m not allowed within two hundred yards of her since the restraining order.’ He winked and smiled so I was unable tell if he was joking.

By the time I got home, Debbie and Natalia had made dinner. Natalia was dressed in some of Debbie’s clothes. She looked younger than she had the night before. She had applied light cosmetics and had washed and styled her hair. She and Debbie moved wordlessly around one another in the kitchen, handling pots and pans, smiling politely when one got in the path of the other.

‘Things seem to be going well,’ I said, gesturing towards Natalia, who was laying the table.

‘As if I have a choice,’ Debbie replied, though I could tell from her tone that she had reached some sort of grudging acceptance for now.

Penny and Shane were sitting in the living room on the floor, playing with a teaset. Penny had laid cups and saucers for several of her dolls, while Shane was chewing on a plastic apple and banging the floor with a small plastic fork. They looked up and smiled when they saw me in the doorway, then went back to their play. I walked over and kissed both on the head, smelt the scent of their shampoo.

The doorbell rang and I was a little surprised to see Karol Walshyk standing outside, dressed in his neatest suit, a bottle of wine in his hand.

‘I called him earlier today to tell him how Natalia was doing,’ Debbie explained, as he and Natalia spoke in the kitchen. ‘I suggested he come for dinner. I thought it might be nice for her to have someone to speak with.’

‘You’re the best, Debs,’ I said.

We shared a meal of chicken and roast potatoes. Natalia and Karol spoke frequently in Chechen, which Karol would then translate for us. We avoided speaking of Natalia’s husband, or her feelings about Ireland. Debbie asked if Natalia had any children, which Karol answered without asking her, presumably to avoid the topic of the miscarriage which had first brought her to his attention. Still, I suspected that she had understood the timbre of the question, for she became suddenly subdued and spoke little, even with Karol, for the remainder of the night.

‘He likes her,’ Debbie said, after Karol had left and Natalia had gone to bed. ‘He feels guilty about it, but he likes her a lot.’

‘Are you sure it isn’t just the romantic in you, looking to match-make?’ I said.

‘No. He really likes her. He cares for her. You can tell in the way he speaks to her. The way he didn’t translate that bloody stupid question I asked about children. He wants to protect her.’

‘She’s just lost her husband,’ I pointed out.

‘I didn’t say he was going to do anything about it. Or her either. But I think it’s mutual. They’re a nice pair.’

‘Would you?’ I asked.

‘Would I what?’

‘Date again? Remarry? If something happened to me?’

‘Now, who would I have to fight with then?’ she said. Then after a pause she asked, ‘What about you? Bearing in mind what I’ve put up with this week. Would you marry again?’

I thought again of Karl Moore. ‘I don’t think I could live if anything happened to you, Debs.’

‘That’s the right answer,’ she said, her hand flat against my cheek, her smile reaching her eyes.

Chapter Twenty

Saturday, 21 October

It took several attempts before I got the car started the following morning, and even at that it was so cold my breath froze on the interior of the windscreen within seconds of my clearing it.

I sat at my desk, drinking a mug of coffee, still wearing my coat as I waited for the station’s heating system to rattle itself into life. Patterson arrived just after eight, while the sky was still lightening. He looked surprised to see me.

‘You’re at least two days early,’ he said, making his way into his office. I followed him, mug in hand.

‘My suspension ends today, Harry,’ I said. ‘What have you got on Leon Bradley?’

‘Are you stupid, Devlin?’ he said. ‘Get out of here.’

‘Karl Moore woke yesterday,’ I said, sitting down in front of his desk.

‘Tell someone who gives a fuck,’ Patterson blustered, though without his usual conviction.

‘The press would have a field day with it, Harry. One of their own killed by a jealous husband, fired up by a cop protecting an American investor the reporter was investigating. It would make a great conspiracy theory.’

‘That’s all it is – a theory.’

‘That’s all it has to be. It won’t matter.’

‘What’s your problem, Devlin?’ he said, sitting heavily in his seat. ‘Still pissed off that I got this job instead of you?’

‘I just want to do
my
job without being blocked at every step. And today, I want a search party out at the Carrowcreel, looking for Leon Bradley’s camera. He went out there chasing this pollution angle.’

‘That nonsense again?’

‘I know the autopsy showed up pollution in the water in Leon’s lungs, Harry,’ I said.

‘Of course you do. Suspension has meant fuck-all to you; you may as well have been at work anyway,’ he snorted.

‘I know I’ve ballsed up on this, Harry. But it’s starting to fall into place now. Bradley thought he knew where the pollution was coming from. And I doubt it was from Orcas.’

This piece of information had the effect I had hoped. Anything that vindicated Orcas and Weston would appeal to Patterson.

‘Go on,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

‘I think he saw or found something up there; something he shouldn’t have. I believe he went up there to take photographs of the pollution’s source. If we can find the camera, we might find out who’s poisoning the river.’

‘The camera might have nothing on it. What if he died before he took any shots?’

‘Then at least we might know where he was killed.’

Patterson rubbed his jawline with his knuckles. Finally he picked up the receiver of the phone on his desk and dialled.

‘Burgess? Patterson here. Get on the blower and round up as many as you can for a search of the Carrowcreel. They’re to meet at the campsite within the hour . . . Yes, overtime payable. Ben Devlin will be leading the search . . . Well he’s back now, if that’s OK with you,
Sergeant?’

He slammed the phone down and stared at me across the desk. ‘Don’t fuck it up this time.’

An hour later a group of us had gathered at the edge of the Carrowcreel. Ten Gardai had turned up. Most had been foresighted enough to wear waterproof boots. In addition, a dozen of the gold prospectors had agreed to help, among them Ted Coyle and a number of Leon’s friends, including the older man, Peter.

We spread across the river, walking side by side upstream, each of us carrying a stick with which to test for unexpected dips in the riverbed. The Garda officers led from the centre of the river; the prospectors stuck mainly to the edges. On the banks, the search was repeated; here the sticks were being used to poke into the longer grass and bushes.

As we moved slowly upstream from the point where Leon’s body had been found, Ted Coyle approached me and took the spot to my left. He still bore the fading bruises from his attack.

‘I thought you’d have had your fill,’ I said.

He laughed hollowly. ‘I’ll stick it out.’

‘I take it no one else has struck it lucky,’ I said.

He shook his head. ‘Nah. A couple of people thought they’d found stuff. Mostly fools’ gold. Iron sulphide.’

‘So you’re still the only jackpot winner.’

He snorted. ‘Yeah,’ he replied, after a pause. ‘Look at that.’

I followed the direction of his upraised finger towards a pool to the side of the river. Trapped between two rocks, a dead salmon floated, its scales shimmering green in the autumn sunlight.

‘They’re everywhere,’ he said. ‘Every day now, I see one or two dead fish floating downstream.’

‘There’s pollution in the water,’ I said. ‘You were right. It’s being investigated.’

‘That’s how Leon and I met,’ he said.

‘I know. You told me at the funeral,’ I reminded him.

He nodded absent-mindedly. ‘That’s right.’

We trudged upriver in silence. Some of the prospectors dipped their hands into the water at various points and lifted out stones or silt from the riverbed.

‘Where did you find your nugget?’ I asked, for want of anything else to say.

‘Upriver,’ Coyle replied quickly.

‘Further up than this?’

He squinted into the middle distance, then turned and glanced behind us. ‘I can’t recall,’ he said.

‘It must have been quite a day,’ I said.

‘It
was,’
he replied.

The answer sounded unnecessarily forced. ‘How did it feel,’ I asked, ‘striking gold?’

‘Oh, it was incredible,’ he replied. ‘Proud as Punch.’

I noticed that he wore a wedding ring. ‘Have you family? What do they think of it?’

‘They ah . . . they’re very pleased,’ he said.

‘I thought you’d have gone back to your wife after the attack.’

‘No,’ he replied slowly. ‘No. I thought I’d wait it out.’

‘What about your kids? Don’t you miss them?’

‘Of course,’ he said earnestly. ‘I’m here for them. If I can find gold, it’ll justify everything.’

‘You seem to have done pretty well already, haven’t you?’ I said.

He glanced at me sideways, then flicked his gaze at the others around us. Most were either engaged in conversation with their nearest neighbour, or staring intently at the water.

‘I have,’ he said. ‘That’s right.’ He ran his hand through his hair.

I stopped walking and looked at him directly for the first time. He held my stare for a second at most, then glanced down at the river.

‘Where does your family live?’ I asked, moving forward again.

‘Newry,’ he said. ‘Just outside of Newry.’

‘What brought you this far north?’

‘I heard about the mine. I just had a feeling I’d discover something if I came here. I always wanted to, you know. Be at one with nature. Make a fortune with my bare hands.’

‘What did you do? Before you came here?’

‘Should I call my lawyer?’ Coyle said, laughing forcedly.

‘Do you think you’ll need one?’

‘I was an accountant,’ he said, pushing his glasses up his nose with a single pudgy finger.

‘Does your boss not mind you taking so much time off work?’

‘No, they . . . they were OK about it.’

I began to see where this was going: a middle-aged man, leaving his job and family to commune with nature.

‘What happened? Did they lay you off?’

He looked at me and laughed again, nervously.

‘Why would you think that?’ he asked, his eyes shifting quickly away from me.

‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t matter to me. There’s nothing illegal in it.’

We walked in silence for another few moments.